


A Wizard’s Equivalence

by peachysummerskies



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awesome Molly Weasley, BAMF Hermione Granger, BAMF Winry Rockbell, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Crossover, Dolores Umbridge Bashing, Dolores Umbridge Being an Asshole, Edward Elric Is A Little Shit, Edward Elric Swears, Gen, Mentioned Alphonse Elric, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Parental Roy, Parental Roy Mustang, Sirius Black Lives, Van Hohenheim - Freeform, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:14:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25713376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachysummerskies/pseuds/peachysummerskies
Summary: The Fullmetal Alchemist is sent undercover by the Amestrian military as bodyguard for Harry James Potter. Trapped between magic and alchemy, Ed has to grasp at straws to protect his newfound friends, and their mysterious armed support- The Order of The Phoenix.And, what do they mean, “watch out for the full moon?”
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore & Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric, Edward Elric & Harry Potter, Edward Elric & Roy Mustang, Edward Elric & Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall & Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 38
Kudos: 247





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work on Archive, so please go easy on me! I’ve recently been obsessed with HP/FMA crossovers, so I decided to do my own. 2003 elements for extra angst, with Brotherhood canon events and characters. Thank you so much for reading!

“And that’s another thing!” Ed tapped his automail on the dusty oak floors of the Colonel’s office, glaring in disgust at the elder alchemist’s ironed uniform. “You want me to wear that... that, ugly abomination! As if I give a damn about dress codes.”

Mustang’s shoulders relaxed a bit as Edward steered the conversation to more superficial matters. The uniform, for Flamel’s sake, was the least of either of their worries. Hawkeye seemed to share that sentiment, as her thumb lazily traced the nearest handgun in hesitant disinterest. This had become a regular quarrel; for a moment, Roy could forget about Edward’s impending mission. 

Humming as Ed went on about poor fashion sense, onyx eyes once again strayed toward his instructions, neatly typed and stacked within a manila folder. As the superior officer, he really should be giving a more in depth debrief right about now. Fortunately for Fullmetal, Mustang’s procrastination habits bled into all affairs, including this, rather disconcerting, report on forbidden ‘alchemy’ in London. 

Magic, the Führer had said, ran rampant in this new post. Mustang wished he could say there was no disbelieving scoff following the statement on his part. And now, he was to explain their diplomatic endeavour to Fullmetal before English representatives came to collect him. Within the hour. 

“Major,” he interrupted. “You’ve not been asked to wear standard Amestrian military garb since you were twelve. Surely-“ Roy raised an eyebrow “-you wouldn’t want to lose Alphonse’s research fund for the year by refuting such a simple request.” 

At Edward’s growl, Mustang’s gloved hand flippantly waved off whatever the boy was going to say next. 

“Of course you wouldn’t. Now, as a student, you’re expected to follow the rules of both their country and school. The model over-achiever, if you would.”

He’d spent hours trying to convince himself that the Führer’s orders weren’t just nonsense from yesterday’s hangover. One old man with sparkling half-crescent spectacles later, and Edward Elric was enrolled in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

“And,” Roy rubbed his eyes, tempted to walk right out of this meeting and go back to the barracks, “I found evidence that the kid you’re going to be protecting... has had some run-ins with a philosopher’s stone.” 

This, as expected, got Fullmetal’s attention. His cowlick bounced a little, and the boy unconsciously brought an automail arm up to smooth it. This particular mission was left to Fullmetal, and by extension, the Colonel, not for Edward’s... diplomacy skills, but his age. Mustang has been opposed to the idea at first, the thought of Amestris-British relations being left to Ed of all people sending a shiver down his spine.

He had no doubt, Edward Van Elric was capable of starting yet another civil war within the span of a day. But, after careful deliberation between all parties involved (sans Edward himself), it was decided that simply acting as bodyguard for Britain’s own “child prodigy,” at a boarding school would not betray any previous agreements between the countries. As was the official story; Edward’s underlying goal would be collecting information on the terrorist group plaguing their allies. First and foremost, he was to ensure they never reached Harry James Potter. 

Mustang made certain that Edward would have a say in the length of the operation. He’d be there for a couple of months at least, but ultimately could file in for mission completion if he got too homesick. Roy wasn’t heartless. Time away from Alphonse was tough on the both of them. 

“I’ll go,” Edward murmured. “On the condition that I get access to any research and witness accounts on the stone. We’re helping a third party connected to their government, right?”

“Yes. Officially, they call themselves the “Order of The Phoenix.” They’re led by the headmaster of the school you’re infiltrating. I’ll be handling any prominent government figures that wish to interfere.”

Cornelius Fudge and Lucius Malfoy, specifically. Doloris Umbridge was also on his list, but Ed would be closer to her than any other operatives. Mustang doubted she’d be much of a problem for Edward, and she didn’t have so much pull that their treaty could end if things went awry. Dumbledore’s supposed connections within the ‘Ministry of Magic’ thread the entire ordeal together, reaching out to Major General Olivier Armstrong for State Alchemist recommendation. Their branch of mystics, the Aurors, were only grudgingly letting Edward work with them. 

Ed didn’t own many personal belongings beside a multitude of research books, notes, and writing utensils outside of hygiene products and clothes. Since he traveled so often, most of said essentials stayed within Van Hohenheim’s ancient leather briefcase. Everything else was kept in East City’s military barracks. Mustang had been forced to send Havoc out for the boy’s things on such a time limit. Hopefully the cigarette addict would remember automail oil. 

“Then... Al, can I at least say goodbye?” Edward’s lips pinched into a thin white line, “If there’s a lead, I’m going to take it.”

Roy knew he would. As much as he despised the Führer’s methods, any chance for the boys was a chance both Mustang and Edward would be willing to take. 

The Colonel checked his pocket watch, blatantly ignoring the scorch marks left on the smooth surface. They had a few minutes- enough time for a quick phone call to the Rockbells and explanation for Alphonse. 

He gave a sharp nod, and Ed was out the door, automail fist clenched around the briefing folder. Somehow, his concern didn’t fade with Riza’s comforting squeeze to his shoulder. There would be no rescue or backup if that kid ran into trouble. He could only hope to Leto, or whatever god was out there, that this mission wouldn’t be a repeat of Laboratory Five. 

-

Edward stood adjacent to Eastern HQ in silence, suitcase in hand. The scruff of his uniform collar, tightly woven sheep’s wool, scratched at the base of his collarbone where his automail port ended. 

Alphonse was off to Rush Valley tomorrow morning, by Ed’s reluctant command. The elder was honestly surprised the younger boy agreed, considering the outrage he’d expressed when told about the mission. While Edward shared similar sentiments, a court martial didn’t sound all that appealing. Both brothers’ saving grace in the situation was the promise of the extensive book collection and lead material that could be found in Great Britain. 

Whoever was meant to pick Ed up was late, evermore so by each tick of his pocket watch. He’d been too caught up in Team Mustang’s heartfelt goodbye to notice, but the location of his supposed travel guardian was nowhere near any form of machine transportation. It was just a grassy field outside the office, still damp with the morning’s lingering dew. Not his problem, still annoying as hell. 

Wizards. He’d believe that shit when he saw it. 

It was a long while before Edward finally caught a glimpse of a man appearing over the ridge to his left. He wasn’t wearing the ghastly navy of Amestrian military, and at the sight of slumped shoulders in burgundy, he knew immediately that this was his one-man-entourage. All overworked government workers had a certain sense of exhaustion to them, and this man embodied it. If he was within military boundaries without a soldier’s rank, he couldn’t be one of them. Truth, this Ministry of theirs had no pride in punctuality. (Mustang would say the same about Edward, if you asked him.)

His clothing choice was certainly arbitrary, a mismatched assortment of leather and cloth. Though Edward couldn’t say he looked any better, if not more professional. 

The poor bastard’s face was the same colour as his fiery hair by the time he’d jogged to Ed’s spot, scuffed dress shoes nearly untied. A bit offset by the display, Edward awkwardly shifted on his heels, wincing when the automail knee joints creaked. 

“Edward. Edward Van Elric, are you him?” He spat through panting breaths, palms resting on his knees. 

“The one and only,” Ed quipped. “Are you, ah, having some trouble there?”

The man chuckled a bit, wheezing. “I’m terribly sorry, my boy, this is not how I meant for this to go. You see,” he gestured behind him vaguely, red locks bouncing, “The portkey I was given landed me a bit farther away from the destination I intended.” 

“I can see that.” He didn’t bother asking what the hell a portkey was. 

“Arthur Weasley, at your service,” the man said, straightening enough to hold his hand out. Edward shook it, careful of his own metal limb, and gave a lazy salute to honour Mustang’s inane standards.

“Ed.”

Arthur nodded, seemingly wary of the movement. Familiar disapproval shone in his eyes, skirting around shoulder badges and lanyard. Child soldiers were an uncomfortable subject for many adults, so being faced with one often warranted such a reaction. Edward wasn’t surprised in the least. 

“Well, then, Ed, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Arthur grimaced. “I hate to rush things, but I am quite late...”

Ed got the message. He flashed Weasley a grin, hoping to soothe the guy’s nerves, and waved toward the ridge Arthur had come from, assuming they’d be heading that same way. Instead, the redhead preoccupied himself with a small goblet that came, as Ed could see, out of nowhere.

Arthur must’ve seen Edward’s frown, because he suddenly took on a completely different demeanour. 

“Christ, I’d forgotten! You’re muggle, aren’t you?”

“Muggle?”

“That’s how we refer to non-magical folk, back home. You’re not a wizard, correct?”

Ed scoffed. “Unless you can call alchemy “magic,” no.” Whatever form of alchemy or  
alkehistory these whackjobs used had better live up to Edward’s expectations. Damn international connections. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about alchemy, but I do have a bit of experience with a portkey: it’s an enchanted object, designed to transport the user to whatever location specified. Although, the first time tends to send travellers sprawling.” Arthur seemed a bit guilty at the admission, looking Edward up and down as if he were going to collapse on the spot. 

Ed just shrugged and muttered, “And how do we use this, “portkey?”

“Just,” Arthur glanced at a small, worn wrist watch, just beyond a patch of sunburned arm, “hold onto the goblet as tightly as you can when I tell you to. Not too difficult, yeah?”

Edward nodded, a small smirk playing at his lips. Arthur didn’t seem to realise that following orders was what he got paid for. It took several minutes for the middle aged man’s pinched bark of ‘now!’, to commence, but when he did, it spurred Ed to clasp the goblet harder than was probably necessary with his flesh hand. 

The last he saw of Arthur before the world began to spin was a lock of bright red hair whipping into a spiral. Around and around they went, Ed’s vision a blur of storm clouds and Arthur’s horrendous suit. It wasn’t nearly as awful as the trip through the gate, but, Truth, he could feel breakfast coming back up. He clenched his free arm around his rolling stomach, the other clinging desperately to the goblet. 

It seemed like ages before they finally landed, and Edward’s first impression of Britain was a clump of weedy grass to the face. He groaned, quietly, cursing his aching limbs and now-queasy stomach. 

“Fuck,” he spluttered. Arthur was sauntering his way in his peripheral, far too put together for what they just experienced. His braid was a mess, hanging over his shoulder and getting caught in the metal of the uniform as he stumbled to his feet. Even his gloves were in disarray. He must’ve been spending too much time with Envy; his head thumped in jealousy watching Arthur move with such grace. 

Edward tried to mimic the casual movement, heavily packed suitcase pulling on his sore shoulder port uncomfortably. 

“Perfect!” Arthur said cheerfully. “We’ve made it just in time.” 

Edward scowled at the redhead, steadying himself as he tried to get a look around. Another hill, it seemed, overlooking a city of brown and grey. Clear Amestrian skies were gone, replaced with storm clouds shrouding any hint of sunshine. And holy mother of Mustang, that goddamn goblet actually got them here. 

“How the hell...”

Arthur offered his hand, and Ed grudgingly accepted, not trusting his wobbly mesh of flesh and metal that made up his left leg. The goblet was tipped over in the weeds, just beyond Arthur’s feet. Between his lingering nausea and baffled mind, there was no time for him to question his escort leading the both of them toward the city by the arm. 

“Portkeys are a bit difficult to adjust to, your first time. Harry reacted the same way. The effects will go away shortly.”

“And we’re just going to leave the magic cup behind? Where are we even going?”

Arthur huffed in amusement, letting go of Ed to push him forward gently. The slope of the hill gradually grew steeper. “It was only needed for our trip to Amestris and back. An old heirloom of the Black family, I believe. Their last remaining member is quite desperate to be rid of any reminders of his childhood, so we won’t be taking it with us.”

Ed bit his lip, remembering how the ash of his childhood home smelt when he burned it down, the glass from old picture frames digging into his boots. He could understand wanting to leave the past behind. Wanting to move on. 

“Our destination isn’t too far from here,” Arthur continued. “Grimmuald Place, it’s called. The Order’s headquarters.” That last part was whispered, as if the dog wandering the street they were stepping onto was listening. He sounded like Mustang when he talked about overthrowing the Führer, all hushed plans and caution. 

Edward rolled his eyes, nodding along and trying not to think of the bastard too much. The only good coming out of this mission was the distance between him and his commanding officer. This Grimmuald Place, whatever it was, was just a base of operations. The things always got exploited eventually. The “Order” shouldn’t get too attached to it being a safety net. He’d learned that much from Mustang’s escapades, at least.

Arthur continued to talk as they made their way down the strangely desolate street, Edward pondering the stormy weather being the cause. Every once in a while he’d acknowledge what the man was saying to show he was listening, however lamely, as he took in the surrounding brick buildings. They were similar to Central’s office buildings, rectangular roofs replacing the triangle shaped straw ones of the countryside. Mostly, though, he kept his eye on the narrow alleyways they passed. 

Criminals had patterns. He didn’t know much about the terrorists they were after, but so close to Grimmuald, if Arthur was telling the truth, any dank alley nearby was bound to attract informants. They might not recognise the target’s location, but they’d be close enough to be dangerous. Scar had a nasty habit of eavesdropping in the cities with rumours of State Alchemists roaming about. That’s how Basque Grand was slaughtered.

Ed almost ran into an animated Arthur when they stopped, the ginger rattling off about his sons’ apparently horrendous pranks over the past few years. He genuinely liked Arthur, but Truth, could he talk. They were facing a row of apartment complexes, each a dull shade of brown or grey with little balcony decoration. The people inside seemed lively enough, Ed noted as Arthur’s words died down, but there was something conventionally wrong about the whole neighbourhood’s exterior. Edward didn’t believe in the sixth sense, but he was sure this was what that instinct would feel like.

If anyone noticed the two figures standing forlornly in the tired light, nothing was said or done. Ed, clad in blue, stiff as a toy robot. Arthur, ridiculously alight and relaxed. 

He was about to ask if they were going to stand there forever when Arthur ended his story with an exasperated sigh. “Those boys, are going to be the death of me, I’m telling you.”

“Mm,” Ed hummed, swinging his suitcase lazily. Arthur reminded him of Hughes, taking ages to get anywhere near the point because he was talking about his kids. He tried to pretend the similarity wasn’t slightly endearing. “Hey, so, could we go in, now, or..?” 

“Oh! Yes, of course!” Arthur tore another item from his apparently endless pockets, this time a piece of parchment rolled into a neat little ribbon. He undid it quickly, smoothing out the paper so Ed could see the small cursive handwriting. “The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number 12, Grimmuald Place, London!” 

The parchment went back in Arthur’s pocket, and from the nonexistent space between numbers 11 and 13, Grimmuald Place came rumbling into view. 

“Welcome to paradise, Ed.”

He needed a raise.


	2. Chapter II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got WAY more readers than I was expecting- I wrote it during a camping trip last August as a joke, and was stoked at the response. THANK YOU SO MUCH.  
> I did not intend for this chapter to come out so late; I’ve had it in the works for months, and I’ve only just recently had time to work on writing again since I have a study lab block. America’s shit has not been kind on me this year. But I turned fifteen, and I’m excited about driving! So that’s good. Chapters will hopefully have less time between updates as well! I’m not super happy with this one, but I don’t have the energy to keep editing it, so here we are. Please enjoy and have a lovely day <33

Ed quickly decided that Number 12, Grimmauld Place was the most depressing place he’d ever been. That was saying a lot, after witnessing the psychiatric ward of multiple military hospitals over the years. Trauma was gruesome whether it be either hospital or house. Strangely enough, it was less the actual residents (though, they certainly added to the mood a bit), than the house itself. If he focused on it too much, his veins would tremble as if his blood were being replaced with cold lead. 

Arthur had rushed Ed down a long hallway smelling of musty curtains, nervously eyeing the dark walls and covered paintings lining them. Edward, frozen by the claustrophobic drear of the place and the simple fact that it’d come from nowhere, didn’t quite register the din of voices until they were in the midst of them. They were standing awkwardly within a hideously filthy dining room, a long table separating him and Arthur from the fight that almost immediately broke up in their presence. One of the voices belonged to a stout woman with hair the same shade as Arthur’s, the other a bedraggled man carrying himself with little dignity. Ed was suddenly very self conscious in his trim uniform facing the English trio’s casual civilian clothing.

“Uh, hey,” he greeted.

Arthur clapped his hands together and began introductions. 

“Well then. Yes. Molly, Sirius, this is the newest member of the Order, Major Edward Elric.” He glanced at Edward awkwardly. “He’s Dumbledore’s agent, from Amestris? Ed, Sirius and Molly.”

Ah, Ed thought. This was the infamous last heir of the Black family Arthur had mentioned earlier. And Molly, if he remembered correctly, was Arthur’s longtime wife. He sighed just a bit, moving his weight off of his automail and hopefully prompting either one of his new acquaintances to say… anything, really. Molly was, in fact, the first to do so, face reddening in what emotion, Ed couldn’t tell. 

“He’s a child!” she exclaimed suddenly, desperately raking her eyes over Edward’s unfortunate outfit like he’d magically grow older in her intimidating presence. Could wizards do that? 

He couldn’t find the outburst to be irritating, since she (as Arthur had said) was a mother of seven; he was sure his own mother would be horrified to see her “little man” in the military at the ripe old age of fifteen, too. Sirius, having not moved, reached over the table to hold out his hand in spite of Molly's blunt reaction, grinning at him almost mischievously.

“Now, now, Molly, he looks quite capable to me. We wouldn’t want an adult playing as a student, now would we?” Ed shook the man’s hand, returning the grin full force. “It’s good to meet you, my boy.” 

The Sirius guy seemed content with his age, which was great if he wanted a fully cooperative, and highly capable, he might add, ally on his side. Ed would do his best not to worry Mrs. Weasley, too.

Arthur had moved around to Molly’s position, raising a hand to pat her shoulder comfortingly. He stretched a hand out to her as well, his left, waiting for her clammy fingers to shake in tandem with his. 

“So,” Ed said once his flesh arm was back at his side, “this is the Order of The Phoenix? Whatever the hell happened outside the house caught my interest, that’s for sure.”

Sirius nodded enthusiastically, waving at the table for them to sit down. They did, Ed grimacing slightly at the hard wooden chairs. 

“A cautionary spell, something whipped up centuries ago for pureblood families to hide their mansions.”

Arthur hummed. He stood over Molly’s seat, leaning against the backing. “I can see how it would cause a shock for you, considering. And, not quite. We make up only a small fraction of the Order, acting as a crossroads for information.”

Edward glanced between the two men in disbelief, then huffed. “Yeah, I get the second part just fine. What I want to know is,” he raised a single automail digit. “One, what kind of cheated science you’re using here. And two,” another finger, “how these ‘purebloods’ are coming up with it.” 

Arthur frowned, looking to Sirius and a blanching Molly for help. “Cheated science? Ed, there’s nothing of the sort. Both the portkey and building are under enchantments that have been around for decades.”

Had the Dumbledore guy Mustang was raving about not told his colleagues about alchemy? Surely they knew, they were using a fucked up version of it. Even alkehistory required healing chakra from the earth’s qi, neutralising the law. You couldn’t simply draw power from nowhere. 

“I don’t think you understand,” he grumbled. “Where I come from, alchemy is the only “magic” we’ve got, if you’re bold enough to call it that. Whatever you’re using here has to have a scientific explanation like ours. Waving it off as an ‘enchantment’ is ludicrous. I just want to know how it all works.” And learn how to use it to get Al’s body back.

“Yes, I’ve heard of your Amestrian alchemy,” Arthur admitted. “A muggle science that evolved through the introduction of magic back in ancient times. Before even your… Xerxes, is it, was rising as a civilisation. It’s natural that you would be suspicious of us.” He looked quite proud of himself, for knowing that little tidbit of information about Edward’s home country.

Ed, meanwhile, bristled at the mention of Xerxes. Hohenheim’s original home was a touchy subject for him and his brother, after finding out that their bastard father was far older than he claimed. Even more so considering Edward and Alphonse’s fluency in Xerxian. All of the alchemy books they taught themselves with when they were children were in the expired language. Their poor schoolhouse teacher in Resembool had nearly keeled over from the stress of decoding the intricate letters, thinking the brothers had the same disgraceful penmanship (Ed’s automail and Al’s lack of flesh made that true now, he supposed), and she’d called in Trisha to discern the small essay assignment and discuss their fine motor skills. Which, obviously, were fine, but Mrs. Andol had no way of knowing that. They had a long talk that evening about writing and speaking only in Amestrian or English in public, the tongues everyone else used dually. 

“To obtain something, you must give something of equal value in return. This is the law of equivalent exchange, and the guiding principle of alchemy.” Ed explained, frustrated with their ignorance. “Making a non-existent building appear out of nothing is not equivalent exchange. There was no energy transfer, or lost mass. There’s not even evidence of the process, like transmutation marks!”

The rest of the table was silent. Ed pursed his lips.

“Harry’s temper and Hermione’s brains,” Sirius blurted. “You’re like their secret love child or some shit.” A grin to match the devil’s lit up the man’s features. “Almost half Harry’s height, too.”

Edward gaped for a moment, taking that in. Who the hell was Hermione, and why would he be- wait. “WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU CALLING SHORT, GREASY MERLIN-WANNABE?!”

Sirius cackled. “That’s the spirit.” He slapped a hand onto his chest amiably, ignoring Arthur’s cries and Molly’s reprimands. “A word of advice, kid.” Sirius leaned over the table like he was sharing some huge secret, arms outstretched. “The wizarding world is batshit insane. It doesn’t matter who explains what, there will always be something to surprise you. It’s better just to accept that head on.”

Ed considered Gluttony’s beady eyes, the tattoo embedded in his tongue. “I could say the same about Amestris.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Molly agreed. She whispered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like bastards recruiting children, which made Edward laugh a little- she had no idea how on-the-nail that statement was. She glared at Sirius, who was not exactly sheepish about his sins. “Nevermind him. The old bat’s been stuck in this house for far too long. His manners are quite lacking. Now,” she puffed out her rosy cheeks. “I do have a supply of books on magical theorems for you, if you’d like.”

“Yes, please.” Edward nodded his thanks.

He flushed pink, a bit embarrassed. Civility was not his strong suit, but he really was trying. Hell, on a normal day he would’ve kept going on his stupid rant just to piss people off. Oh well. if things went wrong he’d just blame it on the itching uniform.

“That’s settled, then,” Arthur sighed, relieved. Sirius pouted. “Ah, why don’t you tell us about yourself, Edward? Your military work, family life? Molly’s quite worried about your position in the army, but I’m sure it’s not as bad as it seems…”

Ed shrugged, and slid back into his chair. He was glad Arthur decided to change the subject, or he’d have made an even bigger fool of himself. 

“There’s not much to tell, really. My little brother, Al, and I share an apartment in the military housing near the central command center when we’re not traveling. My C.O. sends me on missions, makes me write reports, and annoys the shit out of everyone in his office.” Lies by omission didn’t count. “It’s not all that exciting unless there’s a serial killer running around, or something like that.”

Molly looked pale.

Edward smiled, gently, dismissing the words with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Weasley. I always have someone with me as backup, and those kinds of criminals are weak compared to my alchemy teacher. She’s a lot scarier than them, by far.”

That didn’t seem to help much. Whoops. 

“How… interesting?” Arthur squeaked. He saw the unasked question in their eyes concerning his parents. Sirius, however, instead of donning an expression of horror, was smiling faintly. “I used to be one of those.” And Edward laughed, remembering Arthur’s explanation of the events that took place two years ago. 

“So I’ve heard.” 

\---

Edward was shown to a small room at the very end of the hall, to the left, with a tiny fireplace sitting in the corner. It was raining, droplets pattering against the dirty windows that gave view to a lonesome sidewalk. Mustang would have been useless here. He’d know that definitively in November, when the State Alchemists’ annual assessment was upon them, and the Colonel would hear from him personally of the information he’d learned in England. Hopefully the school’s library would be substantial enough for his tastes.

The bedroom, much like the rest of Grimmuald, was coated in a fine layer of dust that would plume into a cloud at the slightest disturbance. Edward was unsure of just how much the ‘magical’ folk knew about Amestrian alchemy, but honestly, he just wasn’t in the mood to clean everything up manually. He clapped as quietly as was possible, and dissolved the particles until they were small enough to merge seamlessly with the floorboards. He’d rather it be there than stuffing up his sinuses while he slept. Dusting had been his least favourite chore as Izumi’s student, causing endless sneezing. 

The bed, fortunately, was free of insects. His bag fit neatly under it, which was very lucky considering the room’s size. It would have taken up much of the room. Despite how closed in it was, the room was freezing, though no more than that of the military dorms. Ed thought he could smell the rich scent of cooking pot roast from downstairs. Truth almighty, he was exhausted.

He pulled a fountain pen from his luggage, along with a sheet of parchment that Arthur had given him. They apparently wrote with quills, which was bafflingly old-fashioned for a seemingly advanced society. Ed hadn’t used the damned things since he was still living in Resembool, which was so tragically outdated. He wished there would be some way to use the more modern methods whilst undercover. 

Ed bit his lip, resting the parchment on his automail leg. He’d rolled the uniform pants up for a hard surface to write on. His writing was messy enough already, and Al would be worried if it were any worse than usual. The pen met the paper, words shakingly taking hold. 

‘Dear Alphonse…’


End file.
